


Think carefully

by swshawnee



Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swshawnee/pseuds/swshawnee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wonshik was once what kept Hongbin alive against his will, but now that danger has long since passed, neither of them can move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think carefully

**Author's Note:**

> Play this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yymTswe4Kk

 

”You're saying that was... something of a turning point for you?”

Hongbin redirects his attention and tries to focus on the man in front of him. Like he should. Like he hasn't for the past ten minutes, even though he has been letting his mouth run almost non-stop.

”No,” he replies. ”I'm saying that was just your run-of-the-mill Thursday for me.”

The man opposite him raises an eyebrow. ”Are you being sarcastic?”

Hongbin shakes his head. ”I wish I was.”

He's aware that his uncommitted attitude doesn't help to sell his point in the slightest, but he can't be bothered to care. Maybe he used to, at some point.

His therapist holds their eye contact for a few more hesitant seconds before nodding and making a note in his pad. Hongbin kicks the rug beneath the table that separates him from the other man, and there is no room in him for complaints about being observed like an animal at the zoo, or the feeling of being so monumentally fucked up that his thoughts deserve to be written down and studied. No, it doesn't bother him that much anymore.

But there's a vast difference between being indifferent to something and being okay with it.

”So, when did it start?”

Hongbin closes his eyes. The small room and its bright curtains that never sway in warm breezes turn into darkness behind his eyelids. Perhaps it looks like he is doing his best to remember, while in reality he's just trying to keep his composure. This question has been repeated so many times to him that he feels like he will split down the middle if he ever hears the word out loud again.

”Think carefully.”

He opens his eyes. The therapist's glasses melt into his face, dances up the top of his face and grow into horns on his forehead.

”I keep telling you, I can't remember.”

”Hongbin,” the man starts, leaning back in his chair, disappointed like he was expecting a major breakthrough. Again. After all this time. Maybe he's the one should be in therapy, Hongbin thinks restlessly; the person who can't recognize a lost cause when he sees one. At least Hongbin has come that far. ”You know this is pointless if you don't work with me.”

”What do you want me to say?” Hongbin shrugs. ”No matter how much I want to co-operate, I can't remember something that isn't there. I've always been like this, always... always felt like this.”

”Are you saying you think you were born with these feelings?”

The mistrust aims at him from across the room, and though Hongbin is long since immune to its sting, he still tries to dodge it. And he still gets hit.

”No, maybe not. I'm just saying I don't know. I don't know anything.”

The other man nods quietly, fingers tensing around the notebook in his hands. For a moment, Hongbin feels sorry for him. It can't be easy to be assigned someone else's life and expected to solve it. Especially when that 'life' resembles a dead end more than a stream of energy, opportunities and – experiences. God, how he wishes he could just put the other man out of his misery and accept defeat.

But his therapist gets up and drags himself over to his desk, where papers, folders and empty coffee mugs fill up the space around his buzzing computer. Hongbin stares at the flickering screen while the other moves, and he knows it shows his journal. Page after page of run-on text, of couldn'ts and wouldn'ts that Hongbin would never in his life want to read.

When the other man shuffles back to their table, he has with him a book under his arm. It falls on the table with a reasonable thud. ”Our time is running out,” he says slowly. ”I want you to, until our next appointment, read this book. It is based on a true story, and the main character has been through a lot of the same things you have. It's quite astounding. Except, of course, for her being a woman. Her ex-boyfriend wrote it for her after the two of them broke up.”

Hongbin takes the book in his hands. He was never much of a reader, but this assignment of sorts renders him speechless. Tilting it slightly, he allows the light from the lamp beside him to fill in the large letters by the top – _Tears in her eyes and smile in her hands_. His hand covers the name of the author, but he doesn't need to read it to know. 

”Take a look, and if you feel it gives you anything, read it.” Hongbin looks up at the man in front of him, who has sunken back down into this chair. ”Write down any thoughts you might have, and bring it with you next week. Alright?” 

Hongbin nods, getting up from his chair. He is still speechless, but he'd never in a million years want to explain why, so he forces himself to speak. ”Sure. Okay. Yeah. I'll read it.”

They say their goodbyes, and Hongbin turns the book over in his hands before he walks out, pretending to read the summary on the back. His eyes are honestly just fixed on the swarming letters that can't seem to make any sense – not that he truly wants to know what it says, either way. As soon as he hears the door close behind him, he grips the book tighter and runs down the corridor of the hospital.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Hongbin has driven himself home, he sits in his car, staring ahead from his yard into the street. The city is busy, as it would be on a Friday afternoon. Hongbin himself chose his therapy sessions to be around this time, as a way to make them seem less overwhelming, knowing that a free weekend is waiting just after they end.

Inside his apartment awaits silence, one that invites him to order takeout and watch pointless TV all night, until the movie channels start airing porn, until the early morning golf comes on. The silence offers so much time for him to do whatever he likes with, but today the thought doesn't seem inviting. His whole being is flooded with longing, as it always is from hearing that single name, and the longer he sits here, putting off the inevitable, the longer he is trying to fool himself.

So he pulls out his cellphone from his pocket, glances at the book now lying on the passenger seat beside him, and finds the number usually tries to avoid looking at.

He lets his eyes trace the bustling street ahead, all the people trying to get home to their families at the end of a harsh week, and he wonders if maybe the person on the other end of the line is doing the same. He doubts it, but the thought still ties his stomach into a knot of worry.

After three rings, his call is picked up.

” _Hello_?”

”Wonshik,” Hongbin breathes in relief. ”It's Hongbin.”

” _Hongbin_ ,” Wonshik repeats, surprised. ” _How are you_?”

Hongbin makes a noise and scrunches up his face, annoyed at the irrelevant question. ”Hanging on. You?”

” _I'm... I'm good, I think._ ” They both pause, thrown off by the familiarity of it all. ” _A bit confused, what with you calling and all._ ”

”Mm. Sorry about that. Something happened today and I just felt like I had to tell you.”

” _What happened_?”

Hongbin smiles to himself, reaching out to bring the comfortable weight of the book into his lap. ”My therapist gave me a book he wants me to read. Says the main character has a lot of similarities to me.”

There's a short silence as Wonshik takes in his words. ” _No way. Really_?”

”Yup. _Tears in her eyes and smile in her hand_ by Kim Wonshik.” Wonshik laughs into his phone, raspy and low and somehow self-conscious. ”He said it's _astounding_ how alike the story is my life, the only difference being that the main character's boyfriend wrote it for her after they broke up. He forgot to mention, of course, that the writer changed the gender of the character because he was closeted as fuck and didn't have the courage to tell the truth.” 

Wonshik chuckles again. ” _Well, did he remember to tell you that the main character himself was just as closeted and agreed completely with the writer_?”

Hongbin grins, hoping nobody passing by on the street will see him. ”Somehow that part always gets left out.”

” _I can't imagine why_.” A reflection of Hongbin's smile can be heard in Wonshik's voice. ” _But this means... You will finally have to read the book, huh_?”

”Pff,” Hongbin says dismissively. ”Please. I'll just get the cliffsnotes.”

Wonshik snorts. ” _You know, I can't believe the person who used to call himself my biggest fan won't even read my best selling piece of work. For my number one fan you'd do very badly at the fanclub quizzes_.”

Hongbin leans back and closes his eyes. ”Well, can any of your other fans say they know what your face looks like when you come?”

Wonshik falls silent, taken down a peg or two. Thankfully. ” _Not so far_ ,” he says in the end, and Hongbin can't stop smiling. Possibly for all the wrong reasons.

They sit like that, in the silence. As much as he loves Wonshik's way with words on a normal day, he thinks he might love his stunned silence just a fraction of a heartbeat more. That's why Hongbin can't ever let him know what's coming next.

”See me?” he says, clearly a question, but one with only one possible answer.

” _Is that a good idea_?”

Hongbin scoffs. ”Has that ever stopped you before?”

Wonshik is unusually silent, but it doesn't worry Hongbin. ” _Where_?” the other asks at last, and Hongbin smiles to himself. Again.

”You know the place.”

A small sigh is breathed into the phone. ” _Alright_. _Give me an hour and a half_.”

”And Wonshik?”

” _Yeah_.”

”Bring me something. To read.”

Wonshik laughs at him. ” _Can't you just read the damn book? It's about your life, after all_.”

”No,” Hongbin replies, reaching out to open the car door. ”I don't want to know how it ends yet.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's seven pm when Wonshik joins him in the restaurant. The sun has started to set outside, and there are two glasses of white wine on the table. The book lies between them, obvious and out of place as if to make a point. Hongbin isn't sure exactly what that point is – yet.

”Trying to get me drunk before I even get here?” Wonshik asks as he lowers his bag onto the floor next to his chair, grinning at Hongbin, testing the ground.

”Hurry up,” Hongbin replies, raising his glass in a one-sided cheer. ”You're going to have to catch up with me.”

Wonshik sits down and immediately takes a sip from his glass. Hongbin takes in his appearance – he dyed his hair again, this time a light brown. Other than that, he looks just the same as when Hongbin last saw him, whenever that was. He can't remember. Perhaps he looks a little older, more mature. More sensible, maybe. Hopefully not. Wonshik's eyes fall on the table and he makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat before swallowing. ”You brought the book.”

”Yes. I thought it'd come in handy when I feel like beating you over the head with something.”

”Uh-oh,” Wonshik says, glint in his eyes. ”Am I in trouble?”

”Yes.”

”What for?”

”You wrote the damn thing,” Hongbin says, grinning through his resentment.

Wonshik chuckles, leaning back in his chair. ”I asked you. Remember? You said it was okay.”

Hongbin waves his hand at him, annoyed because they both know know the truth. ”You know me. You need to ask me at at least seven separate occasions with an interval of at least one week between each time and if–”

”If your answer is yes the majority of those times, I can be sure you won't hate me... most of the time,” Wonshik finishes for him. ”Of course I remember.”

Hongbin raises an eyebrow, bringing his glass to his lips once more. ”And yet.”

Wonshik shrugs. ”I needed to make a living.”

”So you sold my life.”

Tilting his head from side to side, Wonshik considers it. ”With your permission, yes.”

Hongbin huffs. Though he's mad at Wonshik for selling his life to the world, he can't deny that he will probably be okay with it in a few days' time. Or a few hours, even. He's in the mood for talking, even though he's spent too much time doing just that today, at his therapist's office. Talking to Wonshik is different.

”How are you, Hongbin?” Hongbin's head threatens to cave in at the seriousness of the question. ”It's been so long since I last heard from you, I have no idea what's going on in your life.”

”Why?” Hongbin taunts. ”Are you thinking of writing a sequel?”

Wonshik throws him an unamused glare, bitter wine washing down bitterness. ”You know the only reason why I wrote about you is because I care.”

Hongbin shakes his head, laughing a little. ”Well, my life hasn't changed much. The main difference is that you're not in it as much.” Wonshik stares at him, as if trying to decipher the honesty of his words. ”How about you?”

”No, I'm...” Wonshik trails off, shaking his head. ”Same here.”

”Really? So I didn't interrupt a perfect Friday evening with your perfect boyfriend? Or girlfriend, I suppose,” Hongbin says, frowning as the scenario plays out in front of his inner eye. Wonshik with a faceless boy or girl in his arms, perched on his living room sofa with snacks and a bowl of dip, watching terrible weekend TV. It makes him shudder until the image burns away in his mind, leaving a blackened shadow behind his eyelids.

”No,” Wonshik replies. ”Nothing like that. Everything is... pretty much the same. Same job, same friends, same family.”

”And you're still writing?”

”As much as I can,” Wonshik nods. ”Mostly poetry nowadays. No bigger projects.”

Hongbin lights up, but hides it in his shadows. ”Did you bring me some?”

Wonshik smiles tiredly. ”It's in my bag.”

Hongbin reaches out a hand across the table without a word, waiting for Wonshik to give him what he wants. For a moment, Wonshik looks mischievous, like he's going to ask Hongbin to do a trick before he gets his reward, but then he leans down, opening the zipper on his bag. Hongbin watches the back of his crouched head, and knows Wonshik would never ask for anything back. He lives with a dark-eyed kindness that is difficult not to take advantage of; but then again, that might just be what Hongbin does every time they see each other.

”Here,” Wonshik says, handing a notepad across the table, not all unalike the one he has seen so many times in his therapist's hands. He clenches his teeth as he accepts the book.

He opens it without a 'thank you', because Wonshik doesn't expect one. Expectations is the number one motive of his behavior; just as Wonshik's book expects him to be fucked up, just like his journal at the hospital expects him to be out of his mind, he finds it easier to live with their confirmation supporting his back. With Wonshik, he knows exactly how to be. The way he _is_. Fucked up.

He browses through the notebook slowly. The wine makes it harder for his eyes to focus on the page, but it doesn't escape him that most of Wonshik's texts are love poems, filled with descriptions of lost love and physical cracks in vital organs. They are beautiful, Wonshik has only improved since Hongbin last read any of his works. Tears spring into his eyes at times, and he bites down hard around nothing to keep them from showing too much.

”My, my,” he drones. ”I think you were lying to me before.”

”What?” Wonshik asks, stretching his neck to get a look at the page Hongbin is reading.

”So many boys,” Hongbin says, looking up for a moment with a pointed look in his eye. ”You must have been getting around.”

Wonshik sinks back in his chair. ”What makes you think they're not all written about the same person?”

Hongbin fights to keep his amused expression in place, but says nothing. That's what he was afraid of but hoping for all the same. ”They're good,” he says in place of everything else. ”They're... very good.”

”Thank you,” Wonshik says dutifully, and Hongbin hates it, hates any unnecessary politeness between them. 'Thank you'? Between the two of them, what does that mean? As if Hongbin is his teacher, as if the compliment is something Wonshik has _earned_ , as if there aren't a million things Hongbin does every day that Wonshik would rather tell him ' _fuck_ you' for. Hongbin broke his heart, for crying out loud, what could Wonshik ever be thankful to him for?

”Do you want to eat?” Hongbin says, pushing the notebook back across the table.

Wonshik nods. ”Yeah. You?”

”Let's order.”

 

 

 

 

 

Once their empty plates are pushed to the side of the table, Hongbin remembers the book again, and pulls it closer to lie in front of him. It's another couple of wine glasses later, and they're both considerably drunker, but calmer, more at ease. He enjoys the look of surprise widening Wonshik's eyes when Hongbin opens the book on a random page, pushing down to make it stay in place.

”Let's see what this is all about then, shall we?” Hongbin says, slurring a little.

”By all means,” Wonshik replies, bowing his head and raising his glass. ”But I thought you said you were never going to read it.”

”By past me's definition of 'never', sure,” Hongbin says, squinting at the text.

Wonshik laughs. ”Your 'never's are surprisingly short.”

”Hey,” Hongbin says seriously, leaning over the table. ”Never can be a very long time, or no time at all. It's up to your interpretation, really. Now shush.” He lifts the book in his hands, clearing this throat. ” _Living with Youngji is–”_ he pauses, looking up at the other man. ”Am I Youngji? Is that my name as a girl?” Wonshik nods. ”It's pretty.”

”Well, you make a very pretty girl, you see,” Wonshik says, smiling as he closes his eyes.

”As I would,” Hongbin says with a laugh, looking back down to his book. ” _Living with Youngji is living with several different people. While one of them wants stability and safety, another wants adventure and spontaneity. A third may want comfort, while a fourth wants to be left alone. Only one get to hold the mic at a time, and you can never be sure who you are talking to.”_ Hongbin stops reading and frowns in frustration, impatiently flipping page after page. ”Boring. We know this already. Way too basic.”

Wonshik laughs again. ”I promise, it gets better.”

Hongbin ignores the comment, because it isn't true either way, and stops at a page closer to the end of the book. ” _Youngji uses a different time format than the rest of the world. She measures her time alive by moments she encountered death. Where others might say ”the year 2007”, she says ”The year I first attempted suicide”. When others talk about ”May 2009”, Youngji will say ”two weeks after I overdosed the second time”. Life for her is not hours, weeks and years. It is the amount of times she has contemplated hanging herself. It is the speed with which her hidden stack of sleeping pills grew. There's a possibility she is not even aware of this herself, but the times she grazed the hand of death marks the milestones of her life. And before you know it, you are drawn into her timeline, and you find yourself counting the days in a similar way.”_

Hongbin reaches the end of the page and falls silent. Is this way of thinking something he does on purpose, or something he's unaware of? He's not sure. What matters is that Wonshik knew. What matters is that Wonshik knows much more than Hongbin thought, and he doesn't have a clue what to do with that.

”Now we're getting somewhere,” he says, looking up at the other man, who shows no emotions at all. There's an ache settled somewhere deep down, but he can't identify it as a single feeling. Anger, that Wonshik would think these things and above all, write them in a book to show the rest of the world? Sadness, that every word he has written is true? Hopelessness, in knowing there is no coming back from it? He doesn't know.

”Maybe it's better if you stick to your original plan,” Wonshik says quietly. ”To not read it, I mean.”

Hongbin stares down at the page, his eyes stinging. ”It sounds so beautiful when you put it like this,” he remarks. ”Not at all what it actually feels like. Like poetry. Of course, that has always been your strong side.” He looks up at Wonshik again, definitely feeling the anger brewing now. ”How handy it must have been for you, to have someone like this in your life, whose _tragically beautiful_ feelings you could take, dress up and sell to the world for your own amusement.”

”Would you drop the attitude?” Wonshik bites, placing his glass on the table with a loud clink. ”Just because I'm a writer doesn't mean I find writing _amusing._ ” Hongbin snorts, about to throw out a snarky reply when Wonshik cuts him off. ”You don't seem to understand what really makes a writer tick.”

”Enlighten me,” Hongbin says. His glass is suddenly painfully empty.

”We don't write about things that fill us with glee, or things that make us happy,” Wonshik seethes. ”We write about the things we can't stop thinking about. Things we can't get over, things that keep us up at night. For me, that thing is you.” Hongbin glares. Sarcasm will only get him so far, especially in the face of _real_ emotions. ”So there,” Wonshik says when he gets no response. ”I didn't write this book because I wanted to humiliate you, or because I needed money – it was just a happy co-incidence that I could get paid for it. I wrote it because your story kept eating away at my insides. Because I couldn't sleep at night, thinking about you and every piece of shit day I've spent with you in the hospital.”

Hongbin clings to the armrests of his chair and the foiled balance in his head. This is why talking to Wonshik is different, because at least here he feels something, but suddenly he doesn't feel like talking anymore.

He stands up, knuckles whitening as he tightens his hold on the book. ”Where are you going?” Wonshik asks. He's scared, most likely of Hongbin running out of here and disappearing for another few months.

”Leaving,” Hongbin replies. ”You're coming with me.”

He has every chance to say no, to go his own way, but he doesn't. He would never, and Hongbin knows this better than he knows himself. ”Where are we going?” he asks instead, when Hongbin hands him the book to place in his bag.

”Just come with me.”

They pay in a hurry, and then they're out the door into the summer night.

 

 

 

 

 

Hongbin has nothing more to say, and he has heard enough. What he wants now is comfort from the endless storm in his chest, but not by talking. He wants noise, but not conversation. Company, but not through words. And above all: Alcohol. So when the clock ticks a few minutes past ten p.m. and Hongbin drags Wonshik into a nearby club, his muscles relax a little, allowing him to breathe.

Once inside, talking is not an option. Wonshik doesn't seem thrilled to be there, but he also doesn't appear too bothered. He probably is, Hongbin thinks for a moment before he discards the thought. He drags them straight to the bar, ordering them each a bottle of something a little too strong, and then they move in synchronization to the dance floor.

Like so many times before, Wonshik knows to keep his distance for a while when Hongbin disappears into the music to sort out his thoughts. Bottles in their hands, they keep close as to not lose each other in the crowd, but Wonshik doesn't reach out to touch Hongbin first. He never would.

Hongbin's thoughts race through his head. Wonshik's words about his time still echo through his head in his own voice. It's true, he thinks, and the realization helps the alcohol make him weak in the knees. There was a time when tying a noose around his neck was just another suicide attempt, just one more step on a journey that would never take him home. During that time, it is true that he counted the days from his last attempt by the size of his stack of pills, just like Wonshik so eloquently informed the world.

But things are different now. It's been just over two years since he last tried to kill himself. The pills he used to collect, he swallows at the start of every day. There is no countdown anymore. And that is why, ironically, it seems to him his life has stopped. Now that he is not expecting death anytime soon, he is timeless, unaffected by passing days, uneventful weeks, unchanging years.

He is surprised by how much relief the thoughts brings him, and allows himself to be drowned in the beat of the music, in the knowledge that Wonshik is right there by his side, in the alcohol assaulting his capacity of thought, hour after hour.

 

 

Hongbin hasn't been this drunk in a while. Dancing is hardly a problem, since even just standing upright will cause him to stumble from side to side, and all it does is bring laughter to his lips, and to Wonshik's. Somehow they wordlessly befriend a lesbian couple in the crowd, and they engage in a hyperactive fourway dance that has them all falling over each other in laughter. Just as Hongbin wraps his arms around Wonshik's neck, the couple sets off a glitter bomb in the middle of the horde, and it sprays all over them to the drowned-out sound of cheering from the people surrounding. Hongbin laughs again as Wonshik struggles to get glitter pieces out of his mouth. He leans forward, and through the flashing, colorful lights he sees the tiny confetti stuck in Wonshik's eyelashes. It's enchanting, and when he feels the same old need to kiss the other man's busy lips, he welcomes it with all his heart. It's a dead-end road, that's for sure, but for now Hongbin doesn't mind if this road doesn't lead him anywhere.

With that, they bid their new friends goodbye without a word, and leave the club.

 

 

 

 

Hongbin pulls Wonshik along to the central bus station next. It's already half past midnight, and Hongbin is starting to feel the tiredness in his bones, but the adrenaline keeps him alert. By the dazed look in Wonshik's eyes, he guesses the other feels the same.

”Where are we going now?” Wonshik asks as a bus pulls into the station, and Hongbin immediately gets up and takes Wonshik's hand, yanking him along. He doesn't respond, but pays for them both, and finds a seat at the back of the bus. Most people don't pay them much attention, despite being covered from head to toe in glitter and sweat.

Once they're seated, Wonshik keeps touching his face. In his drunken state, Hongbin eventually realizes the other man is trying to remove the glitter from his face, and he shrugs his hand away.

”Stop,” he mewls. ”I like being sparkly.”

Wonshik laughs, withdrawing his hand to instead wipe at his own face. ”So help me remove mine.”

Hongbin gives a garbled laugh. ”No. I like it when you're sparkly, too.”

Wonshik snorts at him, much too loud, drunken. But moments later, Hongbin sees out of the corner of his eye that Wonshik stops trying to clean himself.

 

 

It's a twentyfive minute bus trip and a ten minute walk to the ocean. When they get off the bus, Wonshik looks around for a moment, then places his hand over his forehead in recognition.

”Really?” he says. ”The beach? Now?”

”No time such as the present,” Hongbin replies, and gives a confused laugh at his own choice of words.

”It's one a.m.,” Wonshik states.

”I know.”

Wonshik shakes his head as they start walking along the gravel road. ”Hongbin.”

”All that means to me right now is that we'll have the beach to ourselves,” Hongbin says. It's dark, and he's thankful for the streetlights lighting their way. ”Trust me. We'll get to watch the sunrise.”

Wonshik reaches out for his hand, and Hongbin lets him take it. It's the least he can do, he supposes.

”So,” Hongbin says. ”You're still... You know... With me.” It's a statement rather than a question.

”Yeah,” Wonshik confirms. Though Hongbin turns to look at him through the articificial light, Wonshik keeps staring straight ahead. ”Are you?”

Hongbin doesn't respond. There's no need to. He can fool the world many things, but not that he isn't still in love with Wonshik. ”But you know that nothing could ever happen,” he says instead. Again, not a question.

”Yeah,” Wonshik repeats.

Everything is quiet apart from their steps on the crunchy gravel. ”And yet,” Hongbin says, squeezing the other's hand to make his point.

”And yet,” Wonshik says, and squeezes back.

Hongbin sighs. ”You should find somebody,” he says, but doesn't mean it at all.

Wonshik snorts. ”What good would it do?”

”What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, Wonshik keeps staring ahead. ”Even if I fell for someone else, I would still be in love with you. What difference would it make?”

”At least you wouldn't be lonely,” Hongbin says, swallowing hard.

A few moments pass, and then Wonshik finally looks at him, and flashes him a tilted, glittering smile. ”You know what I think?”

”What?”

”I think for some people, loneliness is a feeling. A temporary state of mind that can be helped and cured with words and touches. But for others, it's a personality trait.”

Hongbin wishes he could doubt the words. ”So... You're just going to tear yourself apart in front of me?”

Wonshik shoots him a peculiar look. ”I've accepted it,” he says with a smile. ”You should too.”

To that, Hongbin doesn't know how to respond. They walk the rest of the dark way in silence.

 

 

 

 

Wonshik walks down to the shoreline, his bag slung over his shoulder. It's colder out here, with the way the wind drags the waves up on the sand, but the alcohol has them both in a protective cocoon. Hongbin stays a few meters back and watches as Wonshik removes his shoes and socks, pushing his feet into the sand. The darkness is starting to let up; it's not as thick anymore, not impenetrable.

”Once the change starts, it's quick,” Wonshik says. ”We'll see the sunrise soon.” He lets out a squeak as he takes another step and ocean water washes over his feet. ” _Jesus_ , that's cold.”

Hongbin giggles. ”I want to get in.”

Wonshik glares at him. ”Hongbin, you're drunk, you can't go swimming.”

The command only makes him want to do it more. ”Yeah?” he says. ”Fucking watch me.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, throws it in the sand and is about to unzip his pants when Wonshik grabs his wrist. ”Hongbin,” he pleads, so Hongbin kisses him hard on the mouth, arms wrapping around his shoulders. It startles them both, but Wonshik molds into it surprisingly quickly; warm hands palming at Hongbin's sweaty chest, feeling down his stomach. Hongbin feels it then, a perfect sense of completion, one he detests and longs for with all of his being. Wonshik's words regarding loneliness still rings through him, and he thinks, maybe he is not the kind that _is_ lonely, but merely _feels_ alone, when Wonshik is not around.

The other man makes quick work of Hongbin's belt before unzipping his pants, pulling them down his legs but leaving his underwear on. Once he has made Hongbin step out of each pant leg, sand scattering everywhere, he throws them to the side to lie on top of Hongbin's shirt.

”Now get in the water,” Wonshik says then, flicking the belt against Hongbin's thigh. It stings, but it feels good, and Hongbin laughs, tracing the other man with his eyes as he walks away. ”I'll be over there,” Wonshik clarifies, and gestures towards the left side of the beach, an area covered in large rocks.

Hongbin smiles, breathless with unspoken affection, and turns away, towards the ocean. He steps into it, and it is indeed cold, but it feels relieving. He keeps going, feeling the water rise on his calves, thighs and over more sensitive areas. He's careful, because like Wonshik said he _is_ drunk, and the world is somewhat dizzy around his eyes, but he isn't worried. Mostly because Wonshik is perched on a rock somewhere to his left, watching him like a lifeguard – hardly for the first time. Wonshik has kept him safe for so long, often against his will, that Hongbin doesn't doubt his sincerity even for a moment.

He dives, drenching himself in cold water, and when he comes up, he's panting harshly, but his head feels a little clearer. Looking down, he sees the area around him full of floating pieces of glitter, and he throws his head back, laughing loudly. He turns to Wonshik, and though he can't see him well through the dark, he knows he is watching him intently. Most probably with a smile on his face.

If only life could be like this all the time, Hongbin thinks, he could probably get used to being alive. But the reason why it feels so good is because it's a detour from the main road, an exception from the rules of everyday life.

 

 

 

 

He swims over to the side where Wonshik is sitting once he decides he has tempted the fates enough. The other has his legs curled beneath him, bag sitting securely by his side, and he smiles as Hongbin pulls himself up on the rock, his hair plastered to his face with water.

”No,” he groans and shields himself with his hands. ”You're getting water all over me. It's cold.”

”Don't worry,” Hongbin says, ”it'll get warmer.” He stands in front of the other, who lowers his hands to look up at him with nervous anticipation. Hongbin places one wet hand on his shoulder, pulling at his shirt, and leans down, placing the other on the waistband of Wonshik's pants. ”Get these off,” he whispers before pulling the other's shirt off and over his head. He throws it, too, aside, and waits as Wonshik rids himself of his pants and underwear without hesitation. Soon enough, Wonshik is completely naked beneath him, just as beautiful and captivating as Hongbin remembers and thinks about in lonely moments. Wonshik reaches out and tugs Hongbin's soaking wet underwear down, guiding his legs and feet out of them before throwing them over his shoulder.

Hongbin sinks down, settling in Wonshik's lap. He feels the other shudder when his cold, wet skin meets with Wonshik's warm body, and smiles, unable to stop himself from stealing more kisses from his waiting lips.

”Wait,” Wonshik says, pulling back from the kiss. ”What if someone comes?”

Hongbin chuckles against him, pushing forward until Wonshik lies down on his back with Hongbin straddling him. ”That's sort of the idea.”

Wonshik rolls his eyes, but doesn't object any more. Hongbin eyes the glitter still strewn over Wonshik's face and hair, feels the affection well up with so much force that it hurts. He kisses him again to silence his thoughts, to lose himself in the feeling of Wonshik against him, the goosebumps of their skin sliding together.

”You have the things we need, right?” he asks breathlessly.

Wonshik nods. ”In my bag.”

Hongbin won't waste time on thinking about Wonshik's expectations before their meeting today that made him bring condoms and lube – he truthfully can't remember the last time they met and didn't sleep together. He can't blame him. Besides, feeling Wonshik grow hard against him has him flustered and so aroused that he can barely form coherent thoughts. He leans over to the bag, rummaging through it until he finds what he's looking for, Wonshik leaning up to press kisses to his neck all the while, lapping up the remaining droplets of water.

Hongbin is just about to coat his fingers with lube when Wonshik takes the container from him with a soft ”let me”. He holds his breath as Wonshik prepares him, his own hands warming up as they close around Wonshik's length, stroking it leisurely. Hongbin leans down, and they share a slow kiss, only broken by softs gasps and grunts and it already feels too good to be true. Hongbin's knees hurt in this position, and he's sure the hard surface isn't doing wonders for Wonshik's back, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters.

Even once he has adjusted to Wonshik inside of him, he moves slowly. Neither of them have any desire for this to end anytime soon. Hongbin leans forward on his hands, slowly lowering himself down on Wonshik's length, while Wonshik's hips rises to meet his thrusts. They kiss for as long as their bodies in this position will allow, and the only sounds breaking the silence is their own ragged breathing and the waves repeatedly crashing onto the shore. The silence in their minds remains unbroken. For a while, they're both timeless, and they hold onto the feeling until the last moment.

 

 

 

Dawn has come. Hongbin is sleepy, about ready to pass out, and he has no idea what the time is, but he keeps his eyes open where he sits, basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. Wonshik's cheek is pressed against his shoulder, his eyes blinking rapidly as he too tries to stay awake for the radiant sunrise in front of them.

Hongbin runs his hand over the other's back. ”We should get going, hmm?” he says, feeling soft and weak, unable to defend himself.

Wonshik nods, and immediately sits up to find his clothes. Hongbin rises and skips from rock to rock back to the shore, where his clothes are still lying safely in the sand. His drenched underwear gets left behind, and he shivers as he pulls his jeans up, uncomfortable against his naked skin. He wants to ask Wonshik where his belt went, but when he turns around and sees the other on the rock, wobbling as he struggles to get his pants back on, his laughter kills the question on his tongue. Some things are more important.

They hold hands again as they walk back towards the bus stop, but before they leave, they spare one last moment to watch the colors breaking out on the sky; the pink, the blue, the purple and the orange, enormous splashes of energy to remind them that time is still ticking. In that moment, Hongbin pretends that they're a couple. It's easy, considering they _have_ been a couple in the past, but in his momentary fantasy it is nothing like before. In his fantasy, they are happy. Something neither of them will ever be.

 

 

They barely arrive in time to catch the last bus home. Time is nearing three in the morning, and the discovery makes them both laugh as they get on the bus, Hongbin with his hair on all ends, and Wonshik with his face still full of glitter.

Hongbin falls asleep on the bus. The rays of sunshine on his face are too warm, too comforting, and he can't help it. When he wakes up again, they're almost home, and Wonshik is fighting so hard to stay awake so they don't miss their stop, that it makes his heart ache. He can't help but press kiss after kiss to the side of his face, not caring that the glitter sticks on the crevices of his lips. The exhausted smile on Wonshik's face makes it worth it.

They get off the bus in an unspoken agreement to go to Wonshik's place and sleep. In the morning light they walk hand in hand, and Hongbin wonders if maybe Wonshik too has lost himself in Hongbin's couple fantasy. He finds that right now, he doesn't mind that either.

Wonshik stops at a coffee shop on the way home, and buys them each a mug of steaming hot coffee to go. It completes the picture, and with the mugs in their hands they don't exchange another word the rest of the way home. Hongbin feels a little more sober – not quite there, but a little more aware of his surroundings. He doesn't know whether that's a good or a bad thing.

 

 

 

At Wonshik's apartment, they barely make it in the door before their clothes start coming off again, faster this time. Sand and glitter scatters over the floor as they hurry towards the bedroom, kissing and touching everywhere they can reach as they topple over on the bed, wrapped around each other from head to toe. It is a lot more rushed now, as the hours of the night are all blowing past them and morning is nearing; they know they have to hurry if they want to be together once more before the night is over.

Wonshik slides into him with ease, and he can't help needy moans from resounding in the room. It's harder now, faster, Wonshik above him thrusting into him with such fervent need that it sends all other thoughts spilling from his mind. Hongbin holds him flush against him, from the place their hips connect up to where their chests slide together, warm, sweat breaking out all over their bodies. Hongbin's mind reels and disassembles from the alcohol, fatigue and pleasure coursing through him. When he comes for the second time tonight, with Wonshik's hand between his legs and his breathy moans in his ear, it is less like fireworks and more like tender hands pushing him past the edge. He has never been so utterly _spent_ in his life, physically, mentally, emotionally, and when Wonshik collapses next to him, it makes tears want to well up.

He wants to stay awake. Wants so desperately not let the night end, because once he falls asleep, it is over. But Wonshik crawls in close and wraps him up in his arms, and despite Hongbin's frenzied desires, the end of the night comes as soon as he closes his stinging eyes.

He falls asleep. The regret falls away. And while he's unaware, Hongbin is happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hongbin wakes up after two hours of sleep. It's the alcohol, he knows; it never lets him sleep well. But it's just as well. He wants to be up and out before Wonshik wakes up, and he is sure the other man isn't expecting anything else.

While he gets dressed, the lack of snoring tells him that Wonshik has woken up. But there is no movement from him; he remains still on the bed, feigning sleep. Hongbin smiles as he watches him, because Wonshik has always wanted everything that Hongbin has to offer – except for his goodbyes. And that's okay, Hongbin supposes. Everybody has something they hate so much that they would rather lie than have to face it. This is the one thing Wonshik cannot handle.

He looks at himself in the hallway mirror, smiling wider as he sees the glitter that was once on Wonshik's face, now smeared all over Hongbin's skin and hair. They're both going to have a hell of a time trying to get it all out of their clothes – especially Wonshik's bedsheets. But it's okay, he supposes. It's a nice reminder of one of the best nights of their lives, either way.

He is just about to leave when he remembers the book he left in Wonshik's bag. He looks around and finds said bag slumped by the edge of Wonshik's bed, and he sneaks over, carefully and quietly pulling the book out, pretending like he believes that Wonshik really is asleep. And as he stands there, book in his hands, staring down at the awake but unmoving figure in front of him, he remembers what Wonshik said about tearing himself apart by loving Hongbin unconditionally.

It aches in him, but Hongbin realizes this was probably the last time anything like this can happen. Hongbin might have chased death for most of his life, but he doesn't want Wonshik to meet that same fate. If Wonshik can't tear himself away, then someone else has to.

 

He leaves without a second thought. He doesn't wait for a bus, but walks the whole way home in the cool morning air. No more shortcuts, he thinks. No more detours or pit stops. It is time for the truth.

He told Wonshik he wouldn't read his book because he didn't want to know how it ends yet. Wonshik probably thought he was talking about his own life, but the truth is that the book doesn't tell the whole story of Hongbin's life. It tells the story of Hongbin's life with Wonshik, no more, no less. And Hongbin doesn't want to know how their story together ends, not yet.

But now that they have a final chapter, one that hasn't been written yet and cannot be read by the public, he supposes it would be okay to read the book, knowing that it doesn't truly end like that.

 


End file.
